Masked Intent: A Modern-Day Morality Play

Prologue

On the playlist of little-girl dreams, finding happily ever after with your heart’s desire is sure to end up on your Spotify Repeat Rewind. We set out to make these dreams reality and with starry-eyed innocence, we chart our course for the future in search of someone who’ll stay constant and be by our side even when the winds shift. Our love will be genuine and tell it like it is…he even is who he says he is.

What a fairy tale this must be because it’s been a while since I’ve found hope out there let alone a good, strong, solid relationship. Time after time, self-dealing prick after self-dealing prick, I seem to end up in bed lately with the same mix of lies, deception, and maneuvers, disrespecting and disregarding me for sport, for no reason other than because it suits them and their interests. They think they can dominate and overpower me, and it’s all because of her.

At first, I thought I was simply having a run of bad luck, or that it was bad relationship juju maybe, I’m not sure. Then, I stopped, I listened, and I realized just how much the world has stopped making sense to me. I used to be able to believe in what I saw, heard, and experienced. But I’ve watched Influence seduce so many into doing, saying, or believing most anything imaginable, no matter how heartbreaking, outrageous, or illogical. I simply can’t believe the things she gets away with. She’s real shiny, that one, and she’s almost made me doubt myself a time or two. It’s sad to see, but somewhere along the way, flash replaced fidelity as the standard of excellence. Never mind the consistent, reliable, immutable promise I offer. She’s gamed the system by figuring out a way to manipulate authenticity.

These fools out here aren’t blameless, though. I know I can tend to be stark, plain, and brutal when necessary, but it’s how I’m made, and maybe that’s too inflexible for people today. Maybe that’s why people turn their backs on what’s real and go find someone who’ll say and do whatever it is they feel makes them matter in the moment. If you’re not in a relationship with someone who’s real, why should you need to be your true self?

I remember when the words "TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE" warned that we should act and think with our virtue in mind. Now, I think, the phrase, like a meditation, has become a mantra people play on repeat until they walk away newly enlightened, acting and thinking in their own best interests above all else. That’s more of her work right there. I guarantee it.

I learned this the hard way when I dated a guy whom I thought to be honorable. Turns out Honor was just one of the many masks he wore to present his tailor-made self to me. I don’t know about the women who came before, but I have a low tolerance for deception, which he soon found out, but I digress. Masks have never been my thing after all because I am truth. I cannot tell a lie. Literally. I can’t even fudge when it comes to the truth, so it amazes me as I watch people pick up and cast off personas and behaviors with precision, cloaking their bare essence with actions, peccadillos, and habits that they’ve deliberately distilled from some YouTube video or TV show until they learn to affect an aura or attitude they like better. I feel like I’m surrounded by aliens and changelings who’ve shifted what it means to step out of character now that you apparently, literally, can do this at will. More than that, and in a fundamental way, I wonder if all of this means that Deceit is the new normal. But let’s leave that for another day.

I think the thing that gets me the most is that I’m even having this internal discussion in the first place. Some things don’t change and saying that they have doesn’t make it real. I can’t help but wonder if somewhere behind the scenes I wasn’t read in on a major rule change. Somehow, maybe, possibly, that change left her in charge. Maybe she turned everything on its ear just enough that we awoke the next morning questioning everything we thought to be true eight hours earlier.

Who am I kidding?! That would require planning and strategy, and for that, I can’t bring myself to give her any credit whatsoever. I mean, look at her. And then look at me. I’m not one to brag, but a poet I once knew paid me the highest compliment. Though I admit I’m not all that hard on the eyes, the dear young man, who was quite the romantic, caused a bit of a stir when he declared that I am beauty, that we’re one and the same, pure, and constant, never ceasing. It wasn’t a pick-up line, but from what I could tell, the young poet was emotionally intense and felt everything quite deeply – in the moment. Alas, the poor dear was also rather fickle, it seems, when it came to affairs of the heart, so I always resisted any deep connection with that one. Now, I do hope you’ll pardon my tangent, but it goes quite well to my point: Where’s the literary masterpiece she inspired? Where is the good in what she represents? Who’s relying on her to bring consistency?

More likely, then, I wonder if there might have been a catastrophic mutation in relationship DNA, leaving its foundation on a precarious single-helix structure, wobbly, inconstant, and unable to thrive. Lacking the common ground required to prop up the tenuous passion, it dies out, I guess. Could that be why Unpredictability and Inconsistency are a lot easier to find than Constancy and Loyalty? Or, are some people simply made not to care? No matter how many times you show them your heart, they can’t see past their own whims and desires. It doesn’t seem that hard to do what you say you’ll do, to mean what you say, or to say what you feel. But maybe some people just aren’t born to see anything beyond what the mirror reflects even when I’m standing right there alongside.

So, for now, as these uncertainties loom and spell doom for my interactions, I’ve decided to take a break from relationships, at least until I find someone who can see beyond his own hype and be real with me.

I know that I can be demanding. I know it’s tough to face the very things that make us loathe to see ourselves clearly. But I assure you I am more than worth any pain or discomfort you might feel on the way to enlightenment. Because I can show you better than I can tell you, I’d like to share a story of what happens when two people find each other and inner peace as they embrace truth. Masks must be shed, and paths must be discovered before they can find their way forward. And though they will find their way, rest assured, it’s not quite that neat and clean, it being the course of true love and all. When relics from our past resurface, we must find a way to reconcile their records and any hurts they leave behind before returning them to their proper place in our memories. After that, of course, lessons get learned, and lives can be lived happily ever after. The thing about happily ever after? You’re bound to pick up a battle scar or ten on the way to bliss. So, sit back, take heed, and take note. This story that I’m about to unfold is near to my heart, so there are bound to be a few lessons baked in here.

Act One: The Well-Intentioned White Lie

Chapter 1

Saturday, August 17

Mateo

The sun peeks timidly from behind one of the many fluffy pinkish-white masses floating lazily across the early morning sky. It’s Saturday, just past 7 a.m., and I’m having second thoughts about what, until now, had seemed like an ingenious idea. As I slow my Ducati, my mind skims through the possible scenarios that could unfold over the next minutes. I pull into one of the many parking spaces that skirt the entrance to the Loudoun County, Virginia, park where I’ll be spending the next two hours training with the Renegade Running Club. I kill the throaty motor, peel off my helmet, and comb through my hair and my resolve one final time.

I’ve never been one to indulge in self-doubt or self-recrimination. I know what I want, and I’m used to pursuing whatever that is unapologetically. So why the hell does it feel like I’m about to jump a cliff?

In two words: Alexa Winston.

I can’t shake the heavy deliberation that weighs me down as I grab the duffle bag stored in the space beneath my seat and walk across the lot to the recreation center. A gentle breeze shoots a welcome rush of air through my helmet-crushed hair, and I run my hand through the mess once more to try and bring some order to what the wind has destroyed before I enter the building. Taking a deep breath and gathering my resolve, I scout for a rest room where I can trade my jeans, boots, and leather jacket for the running gear I picked up last night.

There’s great irony in this when you consider that running interests me about as much as owning a Chia pet. Sure, I stay in shape, so it’s not the running that has me on edge. But this is her passion, so I need to make it appear to be mine as well if I want her to take this little shenanigan seriously, if I want her to stop deflecting and take me seriously. Not so long ago, the notion that I would ever consider something resembling a relationship was laughable. Even sillier now is the fact that I have only myself to blame for my current relationship status with this enigmatic, golden-eyed beauty.

From our first meeting nearly a year ago, I’d been drawn to her – and not just in the way I regard most women these days. The attraction between us was instant, but it was more than just that. Our conversation came easy. The connection was clear and though it was intimidating, it didn’t stop me from pursuing her. At first, she deflected my advances. That made her a challenge to me, but challenge quickly transformed into fascination. We struck up a friendship, a brand-new experience for me because I don’t do well with women friends. They typically end up wanting more than I’m willing to give, but that wouldn’t be the case with Alexa. I’ve spent the past many months learning this woman, courting her, really, though I don’t like to think of it in such romantic, outdated terms. A fellow relationship refugee, Alexa fears our growing intimacy, which keeps us stuck in an interesting no-fly zone in our relationship. Our friendship is tight, true, and undeniable. The bond we’ve built is thick and apparently evident when we’re together. Yet, we’ve found ourselves stranded at an interesting outpost and can’t seem to move ahead on our journey.

Like I said, though, much of this is on me. For the past ten years, my heart has had no use for the fairer sex, well, not beyond sex anyway. When you’re out here like that, it doesn’t go unnoticed. But I never gave a shit. Not until I met her. Something about Alexa is different, true. She’s goodness and light. Trouble is, she views me through a single lens – because that’s the only way I’d wanted her to see me at first. I flirted, teased, and laced much of my early interactions with her with innuendo. It was easier that way. I knew she wouldn’t call my bluff, and it gave me time to understand better what I was feeling for her and why it was so different. For a short while, that had been fine with me … until it wasn’t. Until I could no longer deny that friendship was only part of what I wanted with her.

So, I went and did the unthinkable. Having slept with more women than I can ever account for, it was no great sacrifice to abstain for a while. It hadn’t been a conscious decision really, but I haven’t had a woman in my bed since shortly after meeting Alexa, so do the math. I knew my heart had overtaken my head the first time I deflected an offer for hot, sweaty, no-strings-attached sex from a cute undergraduate in one of the psychology classes I teach at American University. Then, with the next offer I’d declined one night while out trolling with friends, I realized shit had gotten serious. The university has long been one of my most lucrative playgrounds for hooking up, but I’ve had enough of the empty, hollow feeling that visits me and hangs around after a mindless romp in the sack. And though something more means something quite scary, the idea of a future with Alexa gives me a hope I haven’t felt in a long time.

So, slowly, and with focused deliberation, I’ve become a man with a plan. After some successful Facebook and Instagram stalking, I learned that Alexa is an avid runner. In measured steps over the last few months, I’ve chatted her up about the hobby, all but convincing her that this is yet another common thread to bind the friendship we share.

Even though I’ve sewn some fertile seeds with Alexa, I’ve sensed her tensing and retreating as our attraction has begun showing signs of an intimacy and attachment that hasn’t previously been there. I still need to find my way in, which is what brings me here to begin training for the Prospect Park Classic Distance Duathlon – a 10-mile bike ride through the storied Brooklyn park sandwiched between two 5K runs. This will be my lever. And so, I’ll train with her (coincidentally, of course), forcing us to spend time together outside of our professional personas so we won’t be able to deny the pull between us anymore.

I find a strange sense of comfort in these thoughts as I exit the bathroom and head toward the center of the lobby where the group has begun assembling. No way could she freak out when she sees me, right? But I won’t have a chance to debate with myself over this. Before either of us can avoid it, Alexa, who’s just finished tying her running shoes, bounds up without looking, sending her careening into my chest. I grab her shoulders to halt her momentum.

“Hey, hang on there, freight train! What’s your rush?”

Chapter 2

Alexa

Freight train, indeed. Only I feel like I’ve been hit by one when my mind deciphers who and what I’ve just collided into.

Oh. The Hell. No.

In what seems like slo-mo replay, my eyes travel up the well-muscled chest that blocks my path until they meet his gorgeous face. In truth, I didn’t need to see the face to know the identity of the solid object in my path. The smell, the voice. The dreamy gray-green eyes that make me think of the Caribbean and see straight through to my soul. It was Mateo Da Rocha in glorious 4k right in front of my face. Quite literally.

I draw in a quick, shallow breath, planting my hands on his forearms while trying to find my voice. “Mateo? What are you doing here?”

Still holding on to my shoulders, he gives a slight squeeze before bending down to kiss my cheeks European style. “I could ask you the same,” he teases, deliberately bypassing my question. That doesn’t go unnoticed.

“A duathlon seems a bit too badass for you, Lexi,” he says with a smile, which for some reason makes me blush and knocks me off center. He’s not exactly wrong in his assessment because this will be the longest, most intense race I’ve entered to date. But he doesn’t need to know this, so I throw my shoulders back and strut my moxie.

“Then it looks like you don’t know what I’m capable of, Da Rocha.”

I’m still struggling for my composure, cursing myself as I try to put away the assortment of way-too-awkward feelings that completely arrests my body and my brain. Hastily, I find my smile, put a mask back in place and try not to consider the possibility that steam might be pouring from my ears if my rushing heartbeat is any indicator of such things.

“Seriously, what in the world brings you all the way out here? Aren’t you operating a little outside of your area code?”

He laughs, and I’m grateful for the unintended ice breaker I’d thrown out there.

“You really need to lose the idea that my address somehow limits where I can go and what I should do, Alexa. But now let me ask you a question. Why do you assume I don’t have ties around here?”

“A fair question. I didn’t consider that. My bad,” I answer with as much indifference as I can muster. Something about him, about our interactions, has been shifting over the past weeks. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. No, that’s a lie. The connection between us has been strong since we met. But I’m too afraid to go there with him and ruin our friendship and maybe risk my heart again. I take a small step back, just enough to pull away from Mateo’s lingering grasp on my shoulders. But the space between us remains saturated with our shared tension.

“So, seriously, what brings you out to God’s country? No running clubs in DC?” I need to do something to break the bonds of this intensity between us.

He folds his arms across his chest and smiles. “I have some connections nearby.”

“Oh, hey, I had no idea,” I say. “So, I guess you get out here a fair bit then.”